More Than Sex

Without a Word

Without a word, you fall into a position I never asked for, never had to, a position you needed to feel and knew, with certainty I would honor.

Surrendering

Surrendering involves trust, fear, a discomfort as you are exposed further than you ever expected when you began this journey.

Formerly “The Other Poems” with 12,000+ readers and correspondents until without warning Tumblr decided I was no longer worthy of web space..

Below is my first book of poems from the original "Other Poems" blog. You can get it on Amazon on Kindle and Paperback.

If you have any of my poems from the original blog on your blog, let me know so I can repost it here. If you like a poem, please repost it so I can find my friends from the last blog. The worst thing about being Tumblr Erased is the loss of connection.

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My corset blog was also erased by Tumblr. I have rebirthed that one too. You can find it here: https://www.tumblr.com/corsetsandkinks4

I have not rebirthed my "The Other Words" blog, which had prose, memoirs and sexual topics worth a comment or two. If you are interested in that one coming back, drop me a private message and if enough people want it, I may start it up again.

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I love conversation, but I am in a wonderful relationship, so no come ons. You would not have a chance no matter who you are.

A Different Kind of Art.

Stop. Just like that. Let me admire you a moment. Each curve. The position of submission. A moment of perfection before the passion is unleashed and you are made a different kind of art.

Lovely blog 💕 😊 😀

Thank you!

From behind

It was the first time we met.

You were only a few steps ahead of me

When I caught you in your lie.

“I used to be a dancer.” you had told me.

“But that was a long time ago.”

Oh no, I thought as I watched the sway of your hips,

The perfect, provocative movement,

Not meant for show, but recognized,

Appreciated. Wanted. Oh yes, wanted

More than you knew then, and more,

Much more now that I have seen how you dance

On the edge of orgasm. You are a dancer still,

And always will be. You can’t help it,

Just as I can’t help thinking, even apart,

How many ways I want your and your dancer’s ass.

It never ends.

M or F?

Male. The poems are about me and my love.

All of You

It has never been about what you would or would not show, what you would or would not do; never about just how hard or how loud you would cry out. It was never about how far the torture could go before you sputtered the safe word, or how, the next time we went further. It was not about your hunger to please, your messy desperate hunger, your submission. what you would or would not wear and where. The collars. The chains. The cuffs. It was not how or where you wanted to be filled, or marked with cum. It was not how, once you saw that fantasies could and did become real, you gave yourself to them. It was not how often, or how many. It was not the desire that matched, sometimes somehow exceeded mine. It was not the hair trigger that set your need off, the way your body, so exquisite and lush, writhes. All those are delightful and more than most women have to offer. more than most women are. but it has always been, always be, your ability to trust the love you feel, the desire rises, and surrender to the one man who knows, and wants, constantly wants, all of you.

Limits

And just as you believe there are limits to what might become real, uyou find out there are not. None in you. And certainly none from me.

By the Time I am Sated

Ah, the time I will take with you. Your arms tied high. Your legs spread. Dressed in nothing but heels and a collar. Teetering. Exposed. Unsure where you are, only that for the next few hours, every square inch of your body will be touched. At times softly. At times roughly. Your body mine, and by the time I am sated, your soul as well.